


Double Up

by Hoodoo



Series: Poker? I Hardly Know Her [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alien Baubles, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating on Rick C-137, Daddy Kink, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Miami's Penthouse, Threesome - F/M/M, Two-Use Portal Chip Technology, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14668212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Miami Rick invites you to a private party at his penthouse, plus Cop Rick but minus Rick C-137. A sequel to "All In".





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey babydoll. Remember me? I haven’t forgotten you,” Rick’s voice purred in your ear.

You don’t know how you know who it is, but you answer, “Miami! Hi! I was just thinking about you.”

“I’m sure you were. Your fingers are a poor substitute for me, though,” he teases.

You can hear him shift his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other as he talks. It’s strangely erotic, those soft wet sounds. You hadn’t lied, either; you had been thinking of him, but mostly because all the shops had their spring decorations out and the pastel colors reminded you of him.

Then like he was telepathic, your phone had rung.

You laugh at his dirty suggestion and deny _that’s_ what you were doing. You ask if he was looking for Rick? Because he’s not with you right now—

“Oh no, babydoll,” Miami chuckles in your ear. “I was looking for you. I’m having a very private party and wanted to know if you’d like to come.”

You’ve only met Miami once, but you know Rick, which means you also know that the last word of that sentence was chosen deliberately. A little heat pools between your legs.

“I, well . . . when is it? And is Rick invited too?”

He chuckles again, and once more you can hear his tongue moving his toothpick.

“It’s tonight,” he tells you, whispering it like it’s a secret. You shiver. Then his voice drops a little lower, deepening to a dangerous level. “And no! That paranoid prick’s not invited! I said private party, baby, which means it’s very exclusive—”

You’re still trying to get over the tremble and can’t respond immediately.

“—so I’ll see _you_ tonight!”

Miami hangs up and you’re left holding a dead phone to your ear, shamefully aroused in public and wondering whether or not you should go because you’ve been seeing Rick pretty regularly—and his possessiveness is legendary—so are you really thinking about cheating on him? That was pretty low. In the next heartbeat, however, you’re wondering how the heck you’re supposed to get there without him?

⁂

At home, you set your purchases down and find an odd disk on your counter. It fits easily in your palm, and is heavier than it looks. One side is etched with a stylized “R”; the other is plain. Minute circuitry is visible around the edges, and it seems to emit a faint greenish glow from within. On closer examination, you can see a seam, like the “R” can be depressed.

You almost do. With it in your hand, your thumb almost pushes it.

Then you realize you are nowhere near ready to make an entrance at a private party, so you set it back on the counter and head to the shower.


	2. Chapter 2

Later, bathed, shaved, lightly perfumed, primped—you had purchased waterproof mascara after your last visit to Miami’s—and clothed in something not too risqué but definitely not demure either, you pick up the disk, take a breath, and push the button.

A portal materializes in front of you. You don’t know exactly where it will lead, but you have a good idea. Carefully, you step through. 

You emerge in a wide hallway, facing a set of double doors. It’s quiet here, and your heels sink into the lush carpet. No other doors mar the walls, which are adorned with large oil paintings, most of which are erotically scandalous in nature. There are no windows, so all attention is drawn to the artwork, which you’re sure is by design. A closed elevator is behind you. There is only one button available to call it, which means you’re on the top floor of this unknown building. 

You slip the token into the small zippered pocket sewn into the inner top seam of your skirt. Taking another lungful of air, you step forward and ring the bell.

Within moments, Miami opens the door. He looks over the tops of his mirrored sunglasses at you.

“Babydoll! You made it!” he exclaims, as if you would have actually turned him down.

He ushers you in and you’re expecting a kiss on the cheek during his greeting. Instead, he surprises you with a full mouth kiss, like a man desperate for a drink and you’re the only glass of water available. 

His tongue slips past your lips and he steals your breath. His mouth is minty instead of boozy, and you don’t fight his tongue as it explores your mouth. Finally, however, he pulls back and lets you have a moment. 

“Welcome back,” he says. 

You can’t help but smile.

He takes you through the penthouse to his couch. There are no other guests. Exclusive party, indeed. 

His furniture, as expected, is plush. You imagine it’s leather, but no leather you know of is so soft, nor has a subtle leopard print with a white-on-white color scheme. You almost ask what it’s made of, but then decide you probably don’t want to know the answer. Miami makes you comfortable, plies you with a drink—not the ‘champagne’ you’d enjoyed so much the time before, but a well-crafted dirty gin martini. As you sip it, you wonder if Miami had any scientific bent at all, or if he simply ignored that facet of his personality and channeled everything he had into this type of lifestyle.

Ricks were so alike, and so different, you muse.

He’s amused by that banal comment, and launches into a discussion, mostly one-sided, about the Citadel and what it’s done for him. And what he’s done for it, wink wink. There aren’t many Ricks who could control this section of the place as well, or under a tight but magnanimous leash, he says. 

You wonder about that—and how benevolent he actually is—but you keep those opinions to yourself. He’s been nothing but generous to you, and you have no dealings with any of the Citadel, so who are you to judge?

Mixing a second drink for you after your first is gone, Miami brings it back to you and settles closer on the sofa. His fingers linger on yours as you take the second glass, and his free hand settles just beneath the hem of your skirt.

Craftily, it slips to the tender skin underneath your knee, which is ticklish. He seems entertained by your laugh, even though you hadn’t meant it to be a girlish little thing. You’re not that charming or coy. Maybe that’s what he’s used to: women being silly, and he likes the control. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe most women he’s with are confident and bold, and what he prefers is being ordered around. You just don’t know, and it makes you laugh again, with a touch of self-induced, over-thinking worry this time.

Miami carefully takes your drink from you, since your laughter is threatening to spill it. He doesn’t seem put out regarding your nervous laughter. 

“Relax, babydoll,” he tells you. “This is just a good time.”

He leans in to kiss you again. 

This time you’re the desperate one, moaning and grasping at him. You whine into his mouth, and when he breaks contact, he doesn’t complain when you follow him and continue the kiss.

Eventually, though, you both need more air.

Miami chuckles deep in his chest at your eagerness. His fingers from the hand on your leg slip higher into your skirt, and the other hand caresses your cheek before gliding down your neck, following the plunging neckline of your top. 

“You were more hesitant the first time you were here. Now that you’ve had a taste of Rick you’re so eager—“ Miami cuts off his own sentence as his fingers find the chain of your necklace. You’ve replaced the chain to make it slightly longer, but it holds the pendant he gifted you when you were here at the poker game. “You’re wearing my necklace!”

You would be very surprised if he hadn’t noticed it before, but you agree. 

“Oh that’s nice, babydoll . . .” he murmurs appreciatively, and his lips go to your skin at the junction of your shoulder and neck. His kisses and nips there, and continues in a low voice, “Have you had fun with it?”

“What?” you ask. 

Miami pulls away again with a smirk on his face. 

“Have you had fun with it?” he repeats. 

You shake your head, confused. “No? I don’t know what you mean . . .?”

Your voice trails off and he shakes his head. The smirk never leaves his face. “It doesn’t surprise me Rick never explained it. Here. Let me show you.”

He leans into you again and you tilt your head, expecting him to go back to nuzzling your neck. Instead, he cups your breasts in both hands and squeezes them as he presses his face into you and delicately picks up the pendant between his teeth. 

He pulls his head back as much as he can, tethered to you by the chain, showcasing the bauble. Once he has your undivided attention, you watch him surround the jewelry with his lips—a surprisingly erotic thing, making that “o” with his mouth—to hold it securely, and bite down lightly onto it. He lets it go then, and it drops, warm from his mouth and lightly coated on one side with spit, to its place on your chest again. 

It’s vibrating now. He pinches your nipples at the same time, making you jump a little.

One of your hands automatically goes to it. The vibration is steady but not overpowering, and it makes no noise at all.

“I didn’t know it did that!” 

Miami purses his lips. “Rick’s an asshole, not showing you what fun you could have with it.”

His disparagement is lost, though, as he takes your hand away from your front and begins kissing your neck again. You lean back onto the sofa cushions, almost swallowed by them, as he travels further down your body. The pendant continues to pulsate, and this time when he gets close to it he blows lightly on it.

Instead of cooling it, especially with saliva on it, however, it warms with the intensity of his breath. It flares with a pleasant heat that fades slowly after he stops. 

“Oh!” you gasp.

He smiles up at you. “See all that you’ve missed? Imagine that right here—“

He cups the junction between your thighs mischievously, and discovers you’ve neglected to wear panties. Through the thin material of your skirt his middle finger finds the cleft of your pussy and puts the smallest amount of pressure there. You gasp again, but it’s a softer sound, less surprised, more needy.

Laughing and shaking his head, Miami takes his hand away and offers it to you. 

“That’s not all that pretty little trinket does. It’ll be more impressive in a darker room. Want to go see?”

You hope you don’t appear too desperate as you get up from the couch.


	3. Chapter 3

Miami leads you deeper into his penthouse. You pass the guest room you’d had fun in before, and Miami knocks briefly on another. Without waiting for a reply, he calls, 

“Don’t stay up too late! Grandpa’s got company!”

There is an indistinct mumbling in response.

As Miami continues with you down the hall, he tells you, “Gotta set some ground rules for the boy, even here.”

It dawns on you he was speaking to his grandson! Mortification in the form of a blush creeps up your face. Before you can feel too embarrassed, however, you’re escorted into what you assume is Miami’s private bedroom.

The room is huge and lavish, just like the rest of the place. The bed is the largest you’ve ever seen; it had to be custom-built, along with all the linens covering it. There’s a wet bar in this room too, and through one wall made completely of glass panels you can see out over the Citadel. It’s already dark outside, but the city lights give the area a dusky, rosy glow. Sliding doors are set in that wall, leading out to a private balcony with a lap pool.

You can’t help go to that wall and look out. You’re careful not to put your hands on the glass however; he must have a cleaning staff but there was no need to give them extra work. 

“You wanna do this in here or out there, babydoll?” Miami asks, stepping up behind you and pressing close. He takes your hips and sways. You can feel his pelvis pushed into your ass and sway with him. “Maybe I’ll ask for a private dance, out there. You silhouetted against the lights of the city . . . there’s no pole as a prop, but I’m sure you’d do fine, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you I can’t dance.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he agrees, rubbing more tightly against you and squeezing you. One hand dips to your pubic mound again. In your ear he says, “But then I remember how well you did on my cock, so I can’t really believe you.”

The hand on your front bunches the fabric of your skirt, collecting it and pulling it up so your pussy is exposed. His other hand slips forward too, and he wiggles his fingers into your folds. You spread your legs a little to accommodate him. 

As he breathes into your ear, he strokes your clit. The double sensation makes you shudder and push back against him. You also reach up and slip a hand around the back of his neck, for support. It makes your spine arch, just a bit. 

“See, baby? That’s the kind of move that always sells down in my club.”

“Ricks are allowed—they’re allowed to finger your girls?” you ask, in a shaky voice. 

“Nope. Only me.”

You chuckle, before he manages to slip two fingers along either side of your clit and gives it a combination of squeezing and stroking. Your knees are suddenly weak as pleasure speeds through you. 

“You’re so eager,” Miami whispers, as if you didn’t know. “Nicely done make up. A shirt so thin it’s almost see-through. No panties. Have you been wet since I called you? Did you play with yourself in the shower, getting ready?”

“Yes. No!” 

“Interesting. What were you waiting for?”

Through the bliss, you manage to turn your head to look as best at him as you can. Directly, you tell him, “I was waiting for you, Daddy.”

For the first time tonight, Miami’s breath catches in his throat. His fingers still, even though they remain in place. You don’t take your eyes from his face, and you see a bead of drool collect on his lower lip. 

“You really like that, don’t you? Being called that.”

“Y-y-yes.”

If it wasn’t obvious before, the standard-issue Rick stutter broadcasts that you’ve struck gold on one of Miami’s biggest turn-ons. A smile lifts your lips. 

“Let’s go to the bed,” you suggest. You pause and add to the end, “Daddy.”

He pulls you to the bed without further delay. 

There, he spins you and you collapse on your back with your legs mostly off the edge. With no further ado, encouragement, or warning, Miami drops to his knees on the floor before you, spreading your legs with his shoulders. He shoves your skirt up, pushing it haphazardly to your waist, fully exposing your pussy. 

You hold your breath in anticipation. 

His fingers ghost along your labia.

“You’ve shaved,” he says quietly. His breath is lighter than his fingers had been, but the intimacy of it makes you hot.

“Waxed.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “I love a bare pussy. Give me your necklace.”

It hadn’t stopped vibrating, although its temperature was now back to normal.

You hike yourself up onto one elbow, twisting awkwardly because he hadn’t moved out from between your legs. Your fingers scrabble for the small clasp on the chain; it takes several excruciating seconds for them to work it open and remove it from around your neck. You hold it out to Miami, who accepts it into his upraised palm.

He smirks up at you over the mess of your clothing, and settles back on his heels. You watch with bubbles of excitement and arousal warring each other in your stomach as he blows on it again to warm it. Then he takes it between all his fingertips, like it’s an egg he’s about to crack. His eyes flick up to yours and he smirks as he says, 

“Babydoll, you’re gonna love this—“

The doorbell rings.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound is distant but melodious. Miami stops and listens, his brow furrowed. Like you’re held in amber, you both stay exactly where you are in this compromising position. 

Several moments later, someone knocks on the bedroom door.

“Grandpa Rick?” a young voice calls. “You have another guest.”

“Just a sec, Morty!” Miami replies loudly, and pushes himself to his feet.

You automatically close your legs, sit up, and straighten your clothing. 

“Don’t get up,” Miami tells you, and hands the necklace back to you. Then he goes to the door and cracks it open.

You get a glimpse of his Morty; an incredibly tanned teen with more style than you’d ever hope to achieve. The boy doesn’t even glance into the room, which you’re eternally grateful for. His doorman duty done, he turns on his heels and is back off down the hallway immediately.  


Your attention is pulled away, anyway, by the new guest Miami is opening his door wider for. 

“Babydoll, look who made it!” he crows.

“Hi,” the Cop Rick you met previously says to you. “Good to see you again.”

“You too!” you reply honestly. You weren’t lying. Miami wasn’t the only one you’d been thinking about occasionally.

“You said you couldn’t make it,” Miami chided him, even as he helped the other man out of his jacket, which is then tossed carelessly to a nearby chair.

Cop picks it back up and lays it nicely over the back. You can imagine him doing that with his uniform too—speaking of which, you’re pretty sure those are police trousers, even if his shirt and jacket are civilian.

“It was a shitshow, but I managed to finish early,” Cop replies, slightly cryptically. 

The ultimate host, Miami throws a hand out to the room. “Well come in! You look tired. Have a seat! Would you like a drink? K-Lax? Some tail?”

You’re not sure if you should be insulted about the ‘tail’ comment, then decide being insulted was your choice, so you’re not. You pat the mattress to invite Cop beside you.

“I’m good. I don’t need most of those,” Cop says as he comes further into the room. It’s hard to miss his insinuation. “It’ll be just nice to sit down for a second . . .”

He settles next to you on the bed. Even if he hadn’t said something, it was obvious he just came off his shift; he carries the distinct odor of a police station, sweat, and a bit of gun oil. His hair is slightly damp so he must have taken a shower there, but the scents are embedded into the fabric of his trousers and they linger around him. It’s surprisingly masculine, especially compared to the cologne Miami wears. Your arousal comes roaring back.

“How’ve you been?” Cop asks you. “I haven’t seen your name on the best seller list yet, with your story of a woman and three Ricks, entangled in sexual escapades.”

You laugh. “It’s still being written, Rick. As a matter of fact, I’m here for some more hands-on research . . .”

He appraises you and tosses a smile over to Miami. 

“I’m sure she’ll be happy for more data,” Miami tells him, with a shrug and a smile of his own. 

You laugh again, and angle in towards Cop for a kiss. His lips are dry from the wind but slowly responsive, and his tongue takes a little prompting to wake up and move against yours—he must be more tired than he wanted to let on—but once he warms up he’s impatient and demanding, pulling you further into the kiss. 

One hand slips to the back of your head. The callouses on his fingers, another marked difference between his lifestyle and Miami’s, catch in your hair. The pull is slightly painful, but you ignore it. His other hand finds your breast and he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making you gasp. He doesn’t let you pull away much, capturing your mouth again.

Miami appears beside the two of you. His fingers tickle your bare legs, under your skirt again, edging as close as they can to your pussy. You don’t know where his other hand is, until Cop moans into your mouth.

At this break in the kiss, you look down to see Miami stroking the obvious erection pushing against Cop’s fly. 

“Officer, I think something needs to be done about that.”

Cop grunts an affirmative and Miami pulls you to your feet. 

“Babydoll, why don’t you get out of those things,” he proposes, as he takes the spot you’d been occupying. 

You can tell it’s more than just a suggestion, no matter how Miami frames it as a question. For half a second you consider reminding him once again you don’t dance, but you don’t know how often you can play that card. And you have been to some strip clubs before; you’re pretty sure you can make a passable imitation of what you’ve seen women do there.

Stepping just out of the men’s long reach, you start with the top button of your shirt.

“Stop,” Miami says immediately. You look up at him, a little startled. “Don’t do that. Not at first. Think about how you chose that outfit for tonight. It looks designed more for clubbing than stripping, sure, but you thought about your wardrobe and made specific decisions. You pulled it out of your closet. You held it against yourself, looking into the mirror. Then you put it on, one piece at a time.

“You felt the fabric sliding over your skin. You smoothed any wrinkles away. Think about how your skin was soft from the shower, how the thin fabric of your blouse and skirt settled just right over your body. It felt good going on, didn’t it?

“You were careful picking it out. You were careful putting it on. Now be careful taking it off.”

“Jesus, Miami,” Cop breathed, almost under his breath. As captivated as you are by Miami’s instructions, you catch his slight eye roll. “Just let her take her clothes off.”

“You’ll thank me,” Miami dismisses. He turns his attention back to you. “Well?” he says, raising his eyebrows.

You’d never thought about stripping in the terms he’d told you, but it made sense. You drop your hands from your button and instead run your hands along your body, over your clothing. One traces the neckline of your shirt, dipping dangerously low into your cleavage. Then you move both down your sides, smoothing the fabric, just like Miami said. It accentuates your waist and hips, and you pause a second in that position, thinking about your next move.

“Turn around,” Cop says.

You throw him a smile and comply. Your fingertips glide to the small of your back, drawing attention to your waist, then down over the swell of your ass before moving back towards your front. It dawns on you that you’re also swaying a little—mostly your hips—to some rhythm you didn’t even know was in you. That makes you smile again, even if they can’t see it. 

You continue, and don’t wobble on your heels, for once. Occasionally Miami gives further instructions: “Slow down,” and “Don’t look at your hands while you’re unbuttoning! Your hands know what they’re doing! Look at _us,”_ and “Unveil in the least to most scandalous order: shoulders, belly, tits, then pussy.”

Towards the end of this impromptu strip tease, after you’ve slowly rid yourself of most of your clothing, you’re hot, both from the workout and because both men’s eyes are riveted to you. You very carefully step out of your skirt. 

“You’ve tanned,” one of them says.

You look up. It was Cop who made the observation. “Uh-huh.”

“That looks good on you. Healthy.”

Miami is the one rolling his eyes this time. “I can’t give a pretty girl instructions on how to tease through a proper set but you can talk about how much better she looks tanned? Which, if I recall, was _also_ my recommendation?”

“I like your advice, Daddy,” you praise. 

The use of his favorite word snaps his attention back to you and he stands up. He offers one hand to you, and the other to Cop. 

“That was just the start of tonight, babydoll,” he murmurs as you step closer to him.


	5. Chapter 5

He kisses you not quite as deeply as you’d like, then flicks a glance up and down Cop, who still hasn’t taken his hand or gotten off the bed. 

“I think Officer Sanchez is still a little tired from his shift, but I strongly encourage him to consider standing up for what I have in mind next.”

You figure Cop is going to tell Miami no, he’s comfortable where he is, but to your surprise he acquiesces. He takes the other man’s hand, and pushes off the mattress to stand up as well. Standing so close to both of them, almost surrounded by them, with the decadence of Miami on one side and the down-to-earth manner of Cop on the other, makes your heart race. 

Miami grins, and you don’t miss his hand slipping to the front of Cop’s trousers again. Cop groans. 

“That needs some attention, babe,” he says.

Cop retorts mildly, “So does yours.”

“Quite.” 

He slaps you on your bare ass. “Babydoll, drop to your knees and blow us both.”

The order surprises and doesn’t surprise you at the same time. You’ve come this far tonight . . .

You do as he says. At first you squat; you’ve kept your heels on and the position actually raises you to the level of their crotches easily. Your hands work Miami’s belt and fly first, releasing his erection from the confines of silk briefs. There’s already a spot on the front from precum, and you quickly run your tongue around the head to tease. 

Miami hisses at that but you turn your attention to Cop’s trousers. He’s already undone his buckle and seems to impatient to allow you to help; he shakes your hands away to undress himself. You wait patiently, looking up at him, until he frees his own length, his hand stroking from base to tip in the way you remember watching him jerk off last visit. 

You nuzzle in and follow his hand with your tongue on the underside of his cock. 

Cop moans more desperately than Miami’s quiet sound.

So you focus on him first: once his hand is completely gone you engulf him, pull his cock fully into your mouth and over your tongue. He cries out and the hand he’d been using grasps the area where your shoulder meets your neck, pinching. 

You don’t care. You alternate sucking and licking and look up at him as you continue. His eyes are shut and the expression on his face is indescribable: pleasured, tight, wanton.

Desire flares in your belly.

You would have continued but Miami tangles his fingers in your hair and at the next outstroke, pulls you off his guest. He smirks down at your gasping, open-mouthed, shiny lipped expression.

“That’s a good start, baby,” he murmurs, and with his hand, angles his own cock into your waiting mouth.

Eventually you have to go to your knees, just as Miami first suggested. You can’t keep your balance going back and forth between the two of them, especially when Miami gets impatient and his hips judder into your face to drive himself just a bit deeper into your throat. 

They’re the same: height, the thickness of their cocks, but even with your eyes closed—which Miami reproaches you for, with, “Eyes up here!” as you suck—you could tell who was who. Miami’s pubic hair is trimmed and he’s cologned, even here; Cop still has a hint of the smell and taste of sweat. The differences are minute but both are intoxicating.

You’re a mess. There’s a thin veneer of saliva from your cheekbones down—occasionally Miami likes to run his cock from side to side on your face before slipping it back passed your lips, and spit has dripped down your chin to your chest. Your hands are slick too; you try not to let them go while you suck the other’s cock. At some point, while your attention was on one versus the other, most of their clothing is removed too. You get the opportunity to look up at two mostly naked Ricks towering over you, fists tight in your hair, sinful noises from Cop and dirty praise from Miami filling your ears. 

You’ve barely been touched and you’re burning up, because you know they’ll be filling you with more soon. With the same spit-soaked hand you’d used on them, you fingered yourself, pressing on your clit, eventually slipping two fingers knuckles deep into your cunt. Poor substitutes for what you really wanted, but enough to make you moan around the cocks in your mouth and tide you over. 

Still, you tease them, push them, edge them to the best of your ability. The breaks taken from one to the other help keep them keen. Miami’s words dissolved to animalistic grunts. Tonight Cop hadn’t spoken to you like he had previously, only moaned and gasped and kept his eyes shut instead of watching you.

Once, when you manage to glance up instead of focusing on the sodden mess of silver-blue pubic hair in front of you, you see Cop supporting himself by gripping Miami’s upper arm so tightly his knuckles are white.

Cop’s breath is ragged and thin sweat has broken out on him. He’s close, you’re going to have to stop—

“Daddy, please!” passes his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

If the air wasn’t electrified before, it goes supernova above you now. At the use of his preferred moniker, Miami turns to Cop—an easy thing to do, with both of them so standing close while abusing your mouth anyway—and kisses him fully, eagerly, with the seeming intent on swallowing him whole. 

Cop melts into the caress. You’re knocked back as he pivots his hips to more fully face Miami. From your lower vantage point, you can see the desperation and eagerness erupt from Cop as he lets Miami ravish his mouth. You see tongues war and spit bridging between them. Their hands, previously so intent on moving you how they wanted, grasp each other: nipples, hips, ass, and hair. Miami rocks his hips forward and their cocks rub. The sounds Cop makes now are deep, deeper than any moan he graced you with tonight. 

It’s like watching stars collide. 

The two of them are completely absorbed in each other and desperate. You’re the audience now, as they collapse onto the bed and the small remaining articles of clothing left, including Miami’s sunglasses, are hurriedly discarded and flung carelessly aside. Two men kissing is hot, two Ricks kissing is your fantasy. Two Ricks groaning and writhing, one of them continuing to whisper, “Daddy, please, I need you, _please,”_ and the other encouraging it, saying, “Yeah, baby, yeah, fuck yes,” and staying between his legs, prepping him for what you instinctively know is next? That is beyond what you ever thought to witness. 

They seem to have forgotten you, which is both upsetting and a teensy bit hot. 

As it continues, however, the vicarious arousal wears thin. Instead of the three of you mutually getting down and dirty, you get two men—while totally enjoying themselves—ignoring you. You like watching men, but real life isn’t like porn with intense lighting and camera angles for views of the action. Miami fucks Cop with enough force to shake the bed, but it doesn’t seem enough for the civil servant: he begs and whines and demands more, more, deeper, Daddy, please, oh please right there right there I need it right there—

Cop comes before Miami does. Miami sits up on his knees a little, and you see the smears of come on both men’s bellies. You watch the finale, where Miami pushes his hands under the other man’s ass and lifts him, making a raised plank of Cop’s body from Cop’s thighs tight around his hips to Cop’s shoulders still on the bed, all tense muscles though his core, before coming deep inside the other man with a drawn-out cry. With trembling arms—Cop is trembling too, you see—he shifts out. Cop drops his legs with a groan and Miami collapses semi-atop him. 

They’re both sweaty and you can see their chests rise and fall quickly, almost in tandem as they pant. Miami’s finger run sedately through Cop’s hair, and with his eyes closed, Cop whispers something too soft for you to hear it. Miami smiles a little at whatever it is and he kisses the chest below him. They’re too wrapped up in each other to remember you.

Quietly, you gather your clothing and slip back into it. 

In the zippered pocket you locate the token again. With once last glance around the room and over the two men still lost in each other, you press the “R” and step through the resulting portal. 

You materialize in your small kitchen. The disk is dark now; the greenish luminosity is gone, like it’s burnt out. You toss it to your counter and kick your heels peevishly into a corner. You’re still horny and unfulfilled and think about calling Rick, but you’re not sure what you’d tell him. 

You go to bed without washing off your makeup.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day you find Rick on your couch, watching TV and sipping from his flask even though it’s nine o’clock in the morning.   
You shuffle into the room and plop down beside him. 

He eyes you critically, taking in your ratty, barely brushed hair and your smeared makeup. He probably doesn’t miss the fact that you still have the lingering odor of spit wafting about you. 

“Where were you l-last night?” he asks.

You’re still not entirely sure what to tell him. In your pause, he slips a hand into his lab coat pocket and pulls something out. He holds his hand out to you and makes an impatient gesture for you to take it. 

With trepidation, you open your palm.

The burnt out token is dropped into your hand. 

“Found this on your counter when I came in this morning,” he says seriously. “Want to tell me-care to explain it?”

Your stomach falls to the floor. Rick’s still watching you intently. There’s no way you can lie to him. Could you? You could tell him you’ve never seen it before and don’t know what it is! Sometimes Rick leaves bits and bobs around your place, you could tell him it must be something he dropped here—

During your second pause, Rick dips back into his pocket and retrieves something else. Meekly, you offer your palm again. 

“Found that too, be-beside it.”

It’s the necklace that Miami gifted you. A tiny gasp escapes you: You’d forgotten it last night! You left it at Miami’s penthouse! Which meant, which meant . . . _Miami must have delivered it back here, to you, while you were sleeping._

You messed up. You were going to cheat on Rick. You _did_ cheat on him, even if no one fucked you! You blew Miami and Cop! You had _planned_ on letting them fuck you, desecrate you, any way that they wanted—but you got burned last night, when they fucked each other and not you, and you were going to be burned this morning because you were caught.

You deserve it, you thought to yourself miserably.

“Well?” Rick prompts, then nods towards the artifacts in your hands. “I know that’s a two-use portal chip. Got something you wanna tell me?”

And you know you can’t lie to him, because he’s Rick Sanchez and he will find out. So, doing your damnedest to keep tears in check because mostly you want to just sob, you lay out the whole story to him. 

He takes a few slugs from his flask, but for the most part, he listens raptly, barely even blinking. He never interrupts you. His face holds no expression, which you take as him gearing up to tear you apart when you’re done laying open your transgression and infidelity before him.

Finally, after so long your throat is dry, you’re done. You haven’t left anything out: from the indecent paintings in the entry of Miami’s penthouse to stripping for the two of them, to being on your knees on the floor, to being shoved unceremoniously aside to watching the two of them do each other, to leaving without them even acknowledging you.

You don’t feel like crying any more. You just feel tired and remorseful, which you expect to feel for the rest of your life. Curling your feet under yourself and crossing your arms to hug your belly, you wait for him to get up and leave. Rick hasn’t said anything yet. Maybe he’ll just walk out without a word and leave you to your misery.

Rick shifts on the cushions and you don’t look at him, because you don’t want to see the back of him go.

Instead of standing up, however, he offers his flask to you. 

“You need a drink.”

At this point you don’t even care it’s so early. You take the flask and take a mouthful. It burns going down, which is exactly what you deserve. 

Rick pockets the flask again and inquires, “So you didn’t get off last night, huh?”

After everything you’ve told him, _that’s_ what he asks? That doesn’t make any sense—

“You could’ve-could’ve called me, you know. Middle of the night booty calls? Baby, those’re way high on-on-on my list.”

You can’t disguise the confused look on your face. Rick sees it, and laughs. 

“You’re not upset?” you ask in a very small voice.

“What? That you snuck off because Miami asked you to come over for a private party? Shit, no.”

His reaction is so far out of the realm of what you were expecting you can’t wrap your head around it. 

“But . . . but . . . when we were all there, playing poker,” you say, “you were really mad—you were so upset when either of them just wanted to kiss me!”

Rick chuckles indulgently. “That was a whole lot of- _a whole lot_ of K-Lax talking, baby. Remember? I was so fucking high—shit, I don’t know what I would have done!”

“So you don’t care that I was going to sleep with them?” you ask, slightly offended. 

This whole morning was topsy-turvy. You never expected him to be cool with your confession, and now you never expected to be upset he wasn’t possessive! Were you still asleep, and this was some kind of messed-up lucid dream?

“Oh, I care, baby,” Rick reassures you. “But-but—you didn’t _actually_ sleep with them. Did you? You said that you kissed them both, and Miami fingered you a little, right? And okay, you blew them both. But no dicks in in your pussy or ass?”

“Right, no . . .” you reply, still not understanding his point.

He laughs in your face again. “See baby, what you have to-to understand is this: Cop and Miami have this _thing._ It’s more like . . .” He waves his hand in a circle, to illustrate the nebulousness of it. “. . . like Miami _owns_ Cop, kind of. Cop’s allowed to be on the force, do his job, pull a paycheck, but he turns a blind eye to some of Miami’s . . . well, some of Miami. In return, Cop knows he’s Miami’s main fling, no matter how much the man loves pussy. It’s a weird sugar-daddy kind of situation, for lack of a better term.

“So you going over there and blowing the two of them before they fucked each other? Yeah. You were basically their fluffer.”

You sit stunned. You try to put the pieces of the previous evening together in your head, and it just isn’t fitting together quite right. It’s like adding two and two and getting five. 

“But . . . I . . . they . . .”

Rick waits patiently for you to form a sentence. 

“They would have fucked me!” you finally exclaim. “Right?! It wasn’t just a huge set up, Miami wasn’t just putting on a show!”

“Oh sure, they would’ve fucked you,” Rick agrees amicably. “But you said Cop was a little off? Cop called him Daddy?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Up until that point, you were still going to get some. After t-that, though, after t-that, no way. Cop was _thirsty_ for him. And calling him by that name? They’re pretty good about keeping their little thing quiet. For Cop to call him Daddy in front of you . . . wow. There was no way Miami was going to _not_ screw Cop, when Cop dropped that word. Cop needed him because of whatever happened-whatever shit went down on his shift, so basically you were an added bonus, but definitely not the main event. 

“Their relationship is a weird one, like I said.”

You have to agree with him, you guess, because you witnessed it.

After a moment of contemplation, you ask softly. “So . . . you’re really not mad I went out to . . . _try_ to have sex with them?” 

“I’m not super happy about it, no,” Rick replies sharply. You wince; you deserve whatever’s coming next. But his voice becomes more tempered again. “But in the end, it’s pretty fucking funny. You got whatever the female equivalent of blue balls is. And you were a fluffer!”

He breaks into laughter again, and mutters the word a couple times more. You take his mirth in stride, although you’re pretty sure you’ve gotten a new nickname.

“Listen babe—you want to party with Miami again, you tell me. If I go along with you, you’ll get some, okay? I can tell them you’re interested in another poker night.”

“Maybe I’m interested in going to his club.”

Rick raises an eyebrow. “Really? You wanna go watch a bunch of pretty beings strip? Get a lap dance from someone with lots of tentacles instead of legs? Do body shots off something more gelatinous than solid?”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I do. Then I could get some more tips on proper stripping techniques!” you tell him, and climb over his lap. Your nightshirt rides up and you grind lightly into his groin. 

A half smile lifts Rick’s lips. 

“You’ve told me a lot more than I ever knew,” you muse. Holding up the necklace Miami gave you and apparently brought back, you continue, “Miami made this vibrate and warm up. He said it does something else too, but never showed me what it was. What else does it do, Rick?”

He picks the pendant out of the air. It spins lazily on the chain. 

“This thing?” he scoffs. “Yeah, it’s warm and it vibrates. After that it just lights up, so it’s like a disco ball in your snatch.”

You laugh and want to not believe him, but he demonstrates how the lights turn on. 

Then he throws you backward onto the couch and gives you everything you were hoping for last night. 

_fin!_


End file.
